


Stars align

by kaithartic (bluedreaming)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3743164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/kaithartic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sehun is having a bad day when a rude customer walks in and makes everything worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars align

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you T for making this! Thank you to the prompter ^.~ and I hope this is kind of what you were expecting. And of course thank you enormously to A for everything, without whom this story would not exist.

The title and song lyric excerpts are from Laleh's [Stars Align](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jShldEm7xEs).

  
  
  
Rain is falling, hitting the glass of his office windows as Lu Han sits at his desk, looking at his inbox. _537 unread emails._ He's tempted to close the program, shut off his computer, and run screaming into the rain, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes another sip of coffee, makes a face because it's already gone cold, _why is the coffee always cold?_ and starts slogging through menial replies to clients, Yes, we understand you concerns.  No, a panda theme is not appropriate for a bank app. Yes, we'll put in little "clicky sounds" just like the B— app. No, apps don't have the ability to smell like flowers. The last email has him so frustrated that he takes a gulp of disgusting cold coffee, groans and throws the empty cup at the garbage can across the room, which he misses. Trails of brown liquid spatter the pale wood floor, a facsimile of a blood spatter; he can almost hear the detective asking the spatter analyst about the projected direction and force of impact.  
  
Lu Han gives up and switches to Facebook, hoping to find some videos of cute cats or something; his best friend now business partner Minseok can always be depended upon for things like that to keep Lu Han from doing something drastic. But the first post he sees is Minseok—holding up a cup of coffee from a coffee shop Lu Han hasn't had occasion yet to visit but which sounds familiar—and the tagline: my boyfriend makes the best coffee! The post has 50 likes and even more comments.  
  
His fingers are sliding over the screen of his phone to his contacts before his brain has a chance to catch up. Minseok picks up at the third ring, and Lu Han wonders if he was waiting for a call.  
  
"Hi Lu," he replied brightly, "is there something at work?" Lu Han remembers that Minseok is on vacation, probably on a beach somewhere, but the fact is barely important and hardly hits the radar of his thoughts.  
  
"You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend." Lu Han sounds grumpy and he doesn't care.  
  
"Oh you mean Zitao?" Minseok laughs and Lu Han can hear the honest joy in his best friend's voice. "He's the cutest thing! I wish I could squish his cheeks all day; I'm so sad that he has class and couldn't go on vacation with me." Lu Han feels happy for his friend, he really does but—  
  
"Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?" he asks, and he can't help the slightly aggrieved undertone. "I just saw it randomly on Facebook."  
  
"I didn't?" Minseok says, and he sounds confused. "I thought—? I guess with the project closing and then going on vacation . . ." Lu Han almost forgives him but then he hears a strange tapping and realizes that Minseok is texting as he speaks.  
  
"You're texting him right now aren't you." Lu Han sits in his uncomfortable office chair, coffee spatters on the wood floor by the garbage can, six hundred and ten bazillion insipid emails to answer and thinks about his best friend who's on vacation and oh, by the way, happens to have gotten _a cute boyfriend. Who makes him happy_.  
  
"Yup," Minseok replies, and Lu Han can practically hear him smiling. "He's honestly so cute!" Lu Han likes Minseok a lot but right now he just wants to scream or throw a fist through the screen of his computer, or at least have a cup of actually hot coffee.  
  
"What's his name?" he asks instead—like a good friend because Lu Han is a good friend and he wants his friends to be happy even if they go on vacation and leave him with a million and ten mindfucking emails to respond to and no hot coffee in the building because the coffee machine is broken again.  
  
"His name is Zitao but I call him Tao, he's a communications student and he works at a coffee shop which is where I met him," Minseok says in an overflow of happy thoughts. Lu Han hasn't heard him say so many words at one time for a long time, and he finally smiles. _It's okay._  
  
His phone beeps. It's a text from Jongdae, in communications.  
  
I'm so so sorry but I'm stuck in traffic from the consultation appointment so I won't be in time to make the new H— pitch. Can you do it?  
  
Everything goes quiet for a moment, Minseok's happy voice fading out into white noise as Lu Han looks at the proof that every cloud has a lining made of lead.  
  


☆

  
  
Rain is falling, hitting the glass of the coffee shop windows. Normally Sehun would be admiring the sound, but everything is like a nail to his migraine; Jongdae is roasting coffee right now and the smell of the beans, normally something he can barely tolerate—whiffs of sweet darkness drifting up from the coffee grinder—is magnified tenfold. He slumps dramatically over the counter when none of the customers are looking and groans.  
  
"Are you okay?" Zitao looks up from his phone, _texting his new boyfriend no doubt_ , his voice tinged with concern. Sehun only groans harder because he knows Zitao will come over and rub his back—he gives the best massages. Sure enough, he can hear the soft sound of footsteps over the tile floor and then Zitao is loosening up the muscle knots in his neck.  
  
"Why are you even working today?" he asks, because everyone knows that Sehun hates coffee and coffee roasting days are the worst—he's gone so far as to bribe people to switch shifts.  
  
"Sungyeol called me this morning," he mumbles into the counter, wincing as his elbow grazes the cash register. "He got called in for his heart monitor placement." _I'd hate you but that would make me a terrible person._ He can hear Zitao shaking his head. Everyone knows that Sungyeol drinks too much coffee, everyone except Sungyeol that is, who's always nursing an iced americano. Sehun would rather work anywhere else other than a coffee shop, but he's a student and can't afford to be picky.  
  
Zitao is just finally getting to the one knot in his back, the one from leaning over the Bunsen burner in the lab all morning, trying to get the stupid experiment to work but nothing would cooperate and his lab partner was sick in bed with a cold and he spilled acid on his favourite shoes and it's just an awful day, stuck in the coffee shop with the smell of roasting beans permeating the air with a rich cloud of pain. At least Zitao is there to vent at, when he's not sending selcas to his boyfriend; Sehun pokes fun at his cuteness but Zitao is the perfect best friend he could ever ask for.  
  
The headache is finally starting to ebb, just a little, but just then the bell over the door rings and Sehun springs up, smashing his head into the cabinet and it's with actual tears budding in his eyes and a dull ringing in his ears that he looks up to see the customer who's just walked through the door, accompanied by the pounding of rain on the sidewalk.  
  


☆

  
  
The skies are still dangerously grey when Lu Han finally escapes the board room with the company representatives and their personal assistants staring at him and all making notes, their gazes like ropes of intense expectation tightening ever closer around his neck. He leaves the cleanup to the secretarial staff for once, the first time he's done anything remotely executive-like and it galls him but he just needs to escape.  
  
_I fucking hate public speaking._  
  
He's trying not to be even more annoyed at Minseok than he already is, after all, he needed a break and it's only fair vacation time—but really, if Minseok had been there, he would have made the presentation and Lu Han can't even blame poor Jongdae who snuck in half-way through, soaking wet from running from the taxi to the subway stop to even have a chance of showing up, because the poor guy is covering a lot of Minseok's work. Lu Han sighs instead, reaching for the umbrella that isn't there. He eyes the sky suspiciously, but it's not raining, so he heads out to find some coffee.  
  
The clouds burst when he's half a block away from the office. Cursing, Lu Han ducks into a drugstore to pick up a cheap umbrella but all they have is mint elephants. He buys one anyway. Just as he's stepping out, flimsy umbrella dubiously keeping him from the rain though he's already wet, Minseok sends him a message.  
  
It's a picture of a panda bear.  You should go visit Zitao and send him love from me!  
  
_No._ Lu Han turns his phone on do not disturb and drops it decisively into his pocket. He's halfway down the block when a gust of wind comes along, grabbing his umbrella in its chilly grasp and flipping the cheap thing completely inside out, thin metal spines snapping audibly.  
  
Instead of screaming, Lu Han calmly folds the broken thing together and heads through the door of the nearest coffee shop. Out of his peripheral vision he notices that the logo looks a little familiar.  
  
But when he spots the name on the tag of the man standing behind the espresso machine, he knows for sure.  
  
Zitao.  
  
_What is Minseok talking about? Cute my ass. He's fucking drop dead gorgeous._  
  
Lu Han drops his umbrella in the garbage can, listening to the satisfying clunk as it hits the bottom.  
  


☆

  
  
Even through his pounding headache, Sehun can see that the man is gorgeous. His blond hair glistens with water drops, his shoulders are dotted with water sinking into a grey sweater, maybe cashmere by the way it moves in the light; his fingers, gripping what looks like a mint umbrella, are delicately poised. The man stands there for a moment, his eyes catching the glare of the yellow lights overhead, his expression blank and unreadable, before he throws the umbrella in the garbage. Sehun jumps at the sound, wincing as his head gives a particularly harsh throb.  
  
"An Americano," the man says. "Please," he adds, almost as an afterthought. He's not looking at Sehun, but rather at the coffee machine—and his mouth visibly turns in on itself, like he’s just taken a sip of something he expected to be sweet, only to find out it was bitter lemon.  
  
Sehun is reaching for a cup by the time he remembers to ask, "what size would you like?" His fingers slip on the paper and the stack of cups clatters to the floor—Zitao jumps and looks at him reproachfully but Sehun doesn't care. The man's gaze switches to him and his eyes are so intense it feels like they're boring a hole through his skull.  
  
"The biggest one," the man says curtly, and Sehun manages to to find the right size with slightly trembling fingers, but he remembers to smile, or tries to anyway. _I think that was a grimace._ He can sense Zitao looking at him out of the corner of one eye and the extra surveillance, instead of comforting him, makes him feel suffocated for once.  
  
The customer—with his heavy gaze and his stiff back and the water droplets daring to dot his cashmere sweater—makes him feel suffocated.  
  
Sehun blinks. His head is throbbing, the veins standing out on his temple.  
  
"That will be four—I mean five dollars," he corrects himself, his tongue stuttering over the last letter so that there's the faintest hint of a lisp. . .he hates that and it hasn't happened in so long but _fuck it_ he just wants to go home. Who cares? The sound of Zitao beginning to grind the beans is like a knife grinding behind his eyes.  
  
"Was that four dollars or five dollars?" the man asks, and there's a definite mocking quality to his voice. Sehun feels spectacularly stupid, somehow, like he's such a child that he can't even count. _I hate you._ His initial fascination for the customer, appearing in the doorway like sudden summer storm, crystallizes into animosity.  
  
"Five dollars," he mumbles, and when the customer gives him a poisonous look he raises his voice far too much. "Five dollars please."  
  
"There's no need to shout," the man retorts. "I can hear you perfectly fine. It was your obvious lack of knowledge, rather than your volume, which I objected to." His hair catches the light; the shade a displeasing tone of yellow. Sehun blinks. _That was fucking rude._  
  
The man hands him a credit card, and Sehun groans inwardly. "I'm sorry," he says, cringing mentally but he's not going to give the asshole the satisfaction of seeing him off balance, at least not anymore than he already is. "We don't accept UnionPay."  
  
The stranger glares at him and Sehun wants to step back, anything to get a little distance because the counter is far too small a safety zone, but he doesn't, clutching onto the edge with knuckles so tight they're white. His head is ringing. He's going to be sick. The man fishes angrily through his wallet and pulls out a five dollar bill which Sehun accepts almost gratefully, handing the customer the receipt before retreating to lean his forehead against Zitao's shoulder for a fleeting instant as his coworker pours the hot water over the espresso shot. _Maybe if I call Yifan he'll take pity on me and let me go home._  
  
Sehun is just pulling out his phone when the loud sound of someone clearing his throat startles him, and his phone bounces out of his pocket and rattles across the ground. He can hear the screen breaking as it hits the tiles and the metallic crunching scratches across his eardrums. If he wasn't at work he'd swear, but he gathers his face together and turns to the customer.  
  
"This Americano isn't hot," the man says. His voice is calm, so calm that it's chilling. Sehun feels like he's being interrogated, like he's a bug under a microscope. He's had enough.  
  
"It's a standard longpour with one shot of espresso and hot water." He doesn't bother smiling. _Damn you with your expensive sweater and elitist attitude; go fuck a cow or something and let me go home and nurse myself better with beer and video games._  
  
"All I want is hot coffee," the man says, and the sound reverberates through the coffee shop like a bullet, bouncing off the glass windows and drowning out the staccato of raindrops hitting the window panes, even though he isn't shouting.  
  
"I can get Zitao to make you another one, free of charge," Sehun says, gritting his teeth and trying not to tear up at the pain in his head. His fingernails are digging into his palms by now and he's certain that if he looks down, he'll see small red seeping half crescents dug into the skin.  
  
"I want to speak to the manager," the customer says instead, feet standing firm.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sehun says, voice trembling slightly—he's not sure whether with anger or frustration or the pain slicing through the tender flesh of his head. "He's not in right now. The one in charge would be me."  
  
"You're obviously completely incapable of doing anything at all," the man scoffs, his lip curling as he insults Sehun. "All I wanted was a simple cup of _hot_ coffee. This is a terrible establishment and I won't ever be coming back." He slides the cup across the counter, where it slips too far on the slick countertop and lands on the tiles, hot liquid cascading across Sehun's legs, the floor, his already damaged phone. And with that the the customer turns and leaves, the door slamming shut angrily at his heels.  
  
Sehun can feel the hot water sinking into his skin, his legs are on fire and his head is in agony and all he wants is to take a cup of hot coffee and chase after the asshole and splash it over his smug face. And after that throw up and put on a new pair of pants. Not necessarily in that order.  
  
"Are you okay?" Zitao asks in shocked tones, his phone and new boyfriend completely forgotten as he surveys the wreckage of Sehun.  
  
"No," Sehun says curtly, and stumbles towards the restroom.  
  


☆

  
  
Lu Han storms out through the rain, not even caring that the drops of water are landing on his sweater, probably irretrievably and irrevocably ruining the fabric, falling in icy cold trickles down his neck to attack the more sensitive skin of his back.  
  
_I'm so—I don't even know._  
  
Walking into the coffee shop, he'd caught the name tag of the barista and realized that this, _this tall smoking hot young guy no less_ , was Minseok's new boyfriend, whom Lu Han was apparently not important enough to know about. And the employee at the till had been no better. Equally tall, with cool blond hair to Zitao's black, his face was inscrutable as he probably looked down on Lu Han, wet and bedraggled in the rain.  
  
Lu Han shudders angrily at the thought and flags down a taxi that happens to be empty and heading his way.  
  
"H— Flats," he barks at the driver before settling into the leather to fume. _Fuck everything I'm going home._  
  
The city streaks by in a mess of sodden lights as he thinks about the frown on the employee's face; the way he seemed to have a stick up his ass, the way he didn't listen to Lu Han at all and was clumsy and careless and didn't seem to care at all. _If he was my employee I would have fired him on the spot._  
  
Lu Han rests his forehead against the cool glass of the taxi window and tries to calm down the angry pulsing of his heart before he gets a migraine.  
  
Your boyfriend's coffee shop is the worst coffee shop I've ever been to. He fires off a text to Minseok, fingers dancing over the screen as he slumps in his seat, his mouth dry and he still hadn’t had any hot coffee today. _I'll just make some from home,_ he decides, signalling the driver when to stop and handing him his credit card—which he smugly notes that the driver accepts without complaint—before darting through the rain to the door of the lobby, giving the concierge a tired wave of the hand before stepping into an elevator.  
  
His phone lights up as he's keying the code to his front door; kicking off his shoes and sighing in relief as he pulls the very damp sweater off over his head, Lu Han checks the message.  
  
WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BOYFRIEND'S BEST FRIEND!?!?!  
  
Lu Han actually steps back at the vehemence in his best friend's text. _What?_  
  
His fingers fumble at the phone and then the screen flashes to incoming call and he knows he's in Very Deep Shit.  
  
Reluctantly lifting the phone to his ear, he looks sadly at the espresso machine on the kitchen counter.  
  


☆

  
  
"Are you sure you don't want to go home?" Zitao's voice is anxious as Sehun steps out of the restroom, uniform pants tucked into a plastic bag while he's in street clothes now, but the fresh apron he’s tied on hides the fact that he's wearing navy skinny jeans, not black slacks.  
  
"I'm okay," he says, and it's true. His headache has subsided tremendously, the pressure apparently relieved by his losing his entire breakfast and lunch to the porcelain toilet. And now he'd rather not go home, not right now, because he knows he'll just end up brooding and avoiding homework and maybe even call someone he'll regret later.  
  
Sehun has sworn off one night stands for a reason, after all, but some of the things the asshole customer said rang a little too close to home, digging at a few of his private insecurities, and he doesn't want to deal with it the way he usually has in the past, falling in and out of strangers' beds— strangers who in the end only liked him for his body.  
  
"You just sit in the corner then," Zitao says, patting him on the shoulder and giving him a large cup of sweetened green tea with some contraband tapioca pearls that he keeps for days when Sehun needs extra perking up; Yifan doesn't approve because "I don't want people to think we sell bubble tea and start asking for it," and Sehun's glad that Zitao doesn't give a rat's ass about breaking rules for "important things," as Zitao puts it.  
  
He sits on the stool, watching Zitao deal expertly with the increasing stream of students coming of class and then office workers picking up a coffee before heading home for the day, or back to the office if they're unlucky enough to be facing hours of overtime. By the time the late afternoon crunch rolls in, he's feeling enough himself that he's back at the till, expertly taking orders and delivering perfect cups of coffee to very satisfied customers, as they smile back at his pleasant grin.  
  
They're just closing up, Sehun counting out the cash register and Zitao downing his last cup of hot chocolate, when the bell over the door rings wildly. And there's a blond-haired man standing in the doorway, gasping slightly out of breath as he bends over, hands on his knees for a moment before straightening.  
  
It takes Sehun a beat to realize that it's the asshole customer from before. He's not wet this time; it's not raining anymore and the man has changed his clothes, now in jeans and what looks like an old Dartmouth school bomber jacket. His hair is styled differently, in casual crumples.  
  
Sehun still doesn't like him at all.  
  
"Yes?" he prompts, and his voice is cold and he finds he doesn't care at all. The skin on his legs still chafes slightly against his jeans, a not so subtle reminder of the earlier debacle. He can feel Zitao approach, his fingers trailing reassuringly over the skin of his wrist as his friend reaches over to close the till, in a loud reminder that they're no longer taking orders.  
  
The man shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, and Sehun can tell that he's feeling really uncomfortable. He waits, in silence, as Zitao starts wiping the counter.  
  
"I—I wanted to apologize for this afternoon," the man says, finally. His voice is completely different now, soft and polite. Not cowed, just firm and apologetic. "I'm Lu Han."  
  
Sehun isn't sure how to react, his mind still taking a subconscious step back as he he tries to process the customer's—Lu Han's—words. _Wait, what?_  
  
"I behaved really terribly this afternoon and I was angry at some other things and took that frustration out on you," Lu Han explains, his reluctant grin sheepish. "I'm really sorry."  
  
Sehun feels confused, and his anger is fading slowly to bewilderment. He's had his share of rude customers of course, though perhaps not on quite the same level as Lu Han, but none of them have ever come back to apologize. In fact, none of them have ever come back at all.  
  
"Okay?" he says, voice trailing upwards in something that's not quite a question. He's not sure what he's supposed to say. "I forgive you," seems excessive, but he feels like he has to say something.  
  
Lu Han's fingers twitch and he slips them into the pockets of his jacket as he looks up and across the counter at Sehun, still slightly off balance, hand resting on the till for support.  
  
"I was wondering if, uh, I could take you out for supper as an apology?" His voice is apologetic, not lusting, and that's probably why Sehun finds himself nodding, _yes_. He's never done this before, gone out with a random guy without plans to find himself in the other's pants before the end of the night.  
  
Zitao looks at him skeptically, dishcloth in hand, but Sehun nods _it's okay, I've got this_ , and grabs his jacket and bookbag before hopping over the half door to the coffee shop floor. His shoes are still a bit damp from the coffee earlier and that's probably not the reason why, but he finds himself slipping as he lands; reaching out his hand, he finds Lu Han's arm and the man steadies him on his feet, giving him a small smile.  
  
"Bye Zitao!" Sehun calls, watching his best friend pull out his phone, probably to text his boyfriend. He feels suddenly, tentatively, okay.  
  


☆

  
  
Sehun isn't really sure what to expect; before, Lu Han had looked like some kind of elite businessman but now, dressed down, he's hard to place. He shrugs. _Whatever._ It's just dinner.  
  
He's surprised, though, when Lu Han steps out into the road and flags down a taxi. _You don't drive?_ Lu Han must have noticed the question in his expression because he shrugs as they slide into the back seat.  
  
"Parking sucks." _I guess that makes sense._ Lu Han gives the driver brief instructions to somewhere Sehun isn't familiar with, before sitting back.  
  
It's quiet, in the car, the growing dusk turning the sky completely black as the city night lights streak by.  
  
"I hope you're okay with French?" Lu Han sounds slightly hesitant, as though he's not sure where to place Sehun. _I guess it doesn't look like I move in your circles._ But then again, he isn't sure what circles Lu Han does move in. He nods, _yes_. The backseat recedes into silence again, and the driver leans over and flicks on the radio.  
  
_Will my stars align, will my stars align  
Looking to the sky, looking for a sign  
Will my stars align, will my stars align_  
  
The taxi pulls up at a sleek metal-and-glass building, moonlight glittering softly off the windows; Sehun tries to open the taxi door but is surprised when it opens seemingly by itself, until he sees the valet outside. _This is so awkward._ He nods at the man, embarrassed, and darts after Lu Han up the steps and through the lobby to the the elevator, stainless steel and mirrors—he's in jeans, just like Lu Han, but he feels out of place. _Why did I agree to do this again?_ He's slipping his hand into his pocket for his phone, about to text Zitao to pick him up, when he realizes that the phone is broken, currently drying out in a bucket of rice in hopes that some data can be salvaged. _And it's thanks to this guy here._ He sets his chin; he'll take this as far as it goes.  
  
Lu Han doesn't seem to be aware of Sehun's newfound determination as he waves him politely into the restaurant—his smile is still awkward but he seems polite and merely apologetic about the previous situation. The maître d' tips her head at Lu Han as though she knows him, _maybe he's a regular?_ Sehun isn't sure, but soon they're tucked into a small alcove—the lighting is muted but not dim, and everything screams more money than he's probably ever had the opportunity to be around.  
  
"You're paying, right?" Sehun asks, then mentally slams his face into the expensive linen tablecloth in embarrassment.  
  
"I'm the one apologizing," Lu Han replies, and Sehun almost feels apologetic in return. He didn't really do anything wrong but it feels off-kilter for Lu Han to be the only one extending a hand in apology. _I guess I could maybe, I don't know, if I apologize, but maybe ask if he's okay?_ He can't figure Lu Han out at all and it's starting to poke at his curiosity.  
  
Lu Han ignores the menus and calls the waiter over with a glance, at least that's what it seems like, because all of a sudden an impeccably-suited man is hovering next to them, menus in hand, and Lu Han is murmuring to him in— _French?_ Sehun feels out of place.  
  
"What do you like to eat?" Lu Han asks, and Sehun doesn't know what to say; he doesn't have a menu for guidance, in fact he's never been within spitting distance of any kind of establishment like this one.  
  
"I don't know what they have," he finally tries to murmur, but his voice cracks embarrassingly over the phrase and he can feel his cheeks redden in embarrassment. Lu Han just smiles at him and Sehun feels really grateful that he's not outright laughing at the way Sehun is completely clueless.  
  
"Well what do you like to eat?" Lu Han asks, and Sehun mumbles, "fried chicken," reflexively; because of course that's what he likes to eat, going out to eat with Zitao when they have extra time and pocket money to get away from instant cup-ramen and cereal with beer because there's no milk—and by the time he realizes that _he actually told the waiter that!_ —it's too late. Lu Han is looking at him across the table, and he's probably making some kind of really weird derp face, the kind that Zitao laughs at him for making when they're studying and Sehun just wants to go home. _What is wrong with me?_ Something about Lu Han is making him lose his balance.  
  
"You're friends with Zitao?" Lu Han asks, out of the blue, the waiter pouring them matching glasses of sparkling mineral water—Lu Han shaking his head when wine is offered but asking Sehun if he wants any with a slight lifting of his left eyebrow. Sehun also shakes his head. _Today is not a drinking day._  
  
"Umm, yes?" Sehun is confused at the question coming out of left field. _What?_  
  
Lu Han blinks; gives his head a small shake. "I'm sorry," he says again, another apology to the tally, "he's my best friend's boyfriend." His smile is almost. . .pained, and Sehun doesn't quite understand except he does. _Long nights sitting alone playing video games when Zitao is out cuddling with someone who loves him._  
  
"Zitao's been my best friend since forever," Sehun says staunchly. "He's the nicest person I know and he cries at videos of cute cats and he loves hot chocolate and fluffy puppies."  
  
"I could say the same thing about Minseok," Lu Han retorts, stopping to take a sip of his water. "He's maybe not as soft as Zitao sounds but he's honest and loyal and when he loves people he loves them with all his heart." He looks sad, somehow, saying it, and Sehun realizes with a twinge in his chest that maybe Lu Han loves his best friend. _You can't do that._  
  
"Do you like him?" he decides to ask, because even though they're sitting across the table from each other in this small, private nook in a restaurant that he wouldn't dare to set foot in alone, he doesn't really know Lu Han at all and there's a kind of freedom in that lack of connection. _If I fuck up it doesn't matter._  
  
"Like who?" Lu Han looks slightly puzzled and Sehun doesn't know if he really doesn't know or he's being obtuse.  
  
"Minseok," he says pointedly. Lu Han's gaze sharpens and he looks. . .taken aback.  
  
"Do you like Zitao?" he shoots back. Now it's Sehun's turn to be surprised.  
  
"Yes," he says, and is bemused to see Lu Han slump back slightly in his chair. "But not that way. He's my best friend; of course I like him."  
  
"Well I could say the same for Minseok," Lu Han replies dismissively, and it's not Sehun's imagination—Lu Han definitely looks relieved. He's about to call him out on it when their food comes, the waiter balancing an array of plates along both arms. There are a couple appetizers and two plated salads and their entrées: a plate of fried chicken for him and—is that macaroni and cheese for Lu Han? It looks an awful lot like Kraft macaroni and cheese and Sehun is completely off-kilter again. Lu Han laughs at his dumbfounded expression before he manages to stuff it behind a carefully blank face.  
  
"I know that it's not really proper to have all the food at the same time," he explains, gesturing to the salads and appetizers on the same table as their main course, "but I find long, drawn out affairs tiring." He looks at his macaroni and cheese pensively for a moment. "At least where eating is concerned." Sehun feels like the sentence means more than he can quite figure out right now.  
  
"I didn't know that macaroni and cheese was French," he states, rather than asking the other questions hovering on the tip of his tongue.  
  
Lu Han laughs. "I'm not sure about the origin," he says, "but I happen to like it so the chef here makes it for me even though it's not on the menu." He smiles, the first proper smile that Sehun has seen on him, his face breaking into sunshine despite the muted lighting and he can't catch his breath, for a moment. He blinks. "Do you want to try some?" Lu Han holds out a generous forkful and Sehun can't tell, _is he flirting or is he being nice?_ and what's more shocking is that he can't tell whether he wants it to be true or not.  
  
He's still slightly skeptical as he leans forward for a bite, half expecting Lu Han to take the fork back and laugh at him for assuming—his mouth closes over macaroni and cheese and dammit if it isn't the best macaroni and cheese he's ever eaten. It's practically orgasmic and he can't help moaning, just a little bit, as the smooth cheese slides over his tongue. And then he's sitting back in his seat, face red because _I can't believe I just did that!_ and he doesn't dare look over at Lu Han who's probably laughing at him and his complete indiscretion and he finally glances over and—  
  
Lu Han is definitely not laughing. He's sitting, fork still in hand, staring at Sehun over the table and the food spread all over it and his eyes are dark and Sehun isn't entirely positive of anything right now when his thoughts are so scattered, but he's pretty sure that Lu Han's eyes spell _w-a-n-t_ across their pupils in at least five different languages, one of them probably French. He feels a little weak and it's not the cheese.  
  
Then Lu Han blinks, breaking their eye contact, and smiles apologetically; if his laugh is a little shaky Sehun doesn't call him out on it.  
  
"It's the cheese," he explains to Sehun, taking his own bite of the macaroni and cheese, Sehun trailing the motion of the fork from the plate to sliding between Lu Han's soft lips and—he makes himself look away. "The chef won't tell me exactly because it's a secret," Lu Han pouts, just a tiny bit, and Sehun's heart skips a beat, "but it's definitely raclette and something else." Sehun nods, distracted, reaching for his chicken.  
  
He's not expecting anything special because fried chicken is fried chicken right?  
  
Wrong.  
  
The chicken fills his mouth with a warm, slightly smoky flavour, as the panko breading and rich coating slide over his tongue and crunch delightfully between his teeth and this time he's not embarrassed to moan, just a little, because the chicken is just that good and he's going to be totally and completely ruined for regular fried chicken after this. He's almost angry at Lu Han for it.  
  
Looking up across the table, he can see Lu Han chuckling as he eats his own macaroni and cheese and Sehun has to grin. _You're not what I expected at all._  
  
He's too full when he's finished eating—the chicken was just that good and he couldn't stop, even though he's regretting it now, not really but just a little bit. The waiter comes by and pours Lu Han a glass of red wine before whisking away their plates; Sehun nods yes at the question too. _I guess a little wine won't hurt._ His headache is long gone.  
  
It's quiet there, sitting across from each other, and it feels like the end except Sehun doesn't want to say goodbye. He's about to say something when Lu Han starts first.  
  
"I feel like I owe you an explanation," he says, voice a little tentative as his fingers idly smooth at his napkin. Sehun is ready to put it all behind him, _obviously you were having a bad day or something because you seem perfectly nice now, and anyway I did have a migraine so that didn't help matters_ , but he lets Lu Han talk. Remembering Lu Han's expression, talking about his best friend, Sehun gets the feeling that Lu Han needs to talk to someone and it might as well be him.  
  
"My best friend is on holiday right now, he's the one with whom I started this company back in college, and then I just found out that he has a boyfriend," Lu Han begins, frowning as he take another gulp of wine. "Seriously, I'm his best friend! I shouldn't have to find out on Facebook!" He looks really upset and Sehun thinks it isn't the whole story, though what he's already told him is cause for being pretty upset. _I would punch Zitao if he didn't tell me he had a new boyfriend._  
  
"And then it was raining and the coffee machine is broken so all I ever get it cold coffee if someone brings it in, and then a staff member was stuck and couldn't make a presentation so I had to do it, and I hate public speaking!" Lu Han's voice is slightly raised by the end of the sentence, the last syllable ringing in the muted music of the restaurant and Lu Han claps his hand over his mouth, embarrassed.  
  
"It's okay," Sehun says encouragingly, "It's pretty private in here; I think you're okay." He gestures at their private nook and Lu Han nods, slightly reassured, though Sehun can see him holding himself back.  
  
"So I went out to get a cup of coffee but it started to rain again and I didn't have an umbrella so I bought a really ugly one at the pharmacy but it was so bad that the first gust of wind turned it inside out and that's when I walked into the coffee shop," Lu Han finishes, and his smile is sheepish, across the table. He takes another sip of wine, and Sehun mimics the action.  
  
"I had a really bad migraine today," he admits, "so it's partly my fault too. Coffee makes me sick." He shrugs, _that's life._  
  
Lu Han looks shocked. "You don't like coffee?" he asks, his eyes wide. Then, instead of berating him like Sehun expects, _then why are you working in a coffee shop that's an insult to coffee etc. etc. etc._ instead he reaches over and pats him on the hand. Lu Han's hands are warm. "That sucks." Sehun isn't sure how to react.  
  
"It's okay?" he says, almost a question. "Like, it's better than McDonalds or something like that, or being a telemarketer." He winces at the thought and Lu Han winces too.  
  
They sit there again, Sehun thinking about all the things he's done in his life and all the things that it looks like Lu Han has done too, and he feels a little short, when it gets measured out. Lu Han doesn't look that much older than him, maybe four or five years tops, but he already has his own company and goes to expensive restaurants so often that the chef makes special off the menu dishes for him. Meanwhile Sehun is still in school, stuck working at a coffee shop when he hates coffee.  
  
_Yeah._  
  
"I guess," Lu Han says, and Sehun looks up at him curiously. "I guess I was just mad that Minseok gets a nice boyfriend and I still don't have anybody." He takes another gulp of wine, draining his glass, but waves the waiter away when he approaches to refill the glass. Sehun sits and waits in the expectant quiet. _This is the real problem._ And usually he's not for hearing about the problems of strangers, even with Zitao he's never been into giving extensive relationship or personal advice, but there's something about Lu Han—he could sit across from him at this table all day.  
  
"I walked into the coffee shop and, Minseok kept calling Zitao cute, right? So I was expecting some cute little guy with curly hair or something," Sehun has to laugh at the face Lu Han is making right now, "but I saw the name tag right away, and Zitao isn't cute at all. He's drop-dead gorgeous and as soon as Minseok gets home I'm going to make him regret giving me a heartattack." Lu Han frowns menacingly.  
  
"Zitao is pretty cute," Sehun defends his friend, also there's a small feeling in his chest that doesn't like Lu Han calling his best friend hot, _but not because I'm jealous, no, of course not_. Lu Han looks at him skeptically.  
  
"And I suppose _you're_ just average looking," he says pointedly, and Sehun can't stop the flush from dusting his cheeks pink. _He thinks I'm cute!_ He feels like a squealing schoolgirl and he doesn't even care.  
  
"Well you're pretty attractive yourself," he points out, and Lu Han grins for a moment before his face falls.  
  
"It doesn't matter," he says, looking at the empty wine glass, a faint red ring marring the white table cloth.  
  
"Why not?" Sehun asks, puzzled. Isn't it a compliment?  
  
"Because Minseok has a cute boyfriend whom he squeals about all the time on Facebook and apparently makes him the best coffee and all I have is people who think I'm good-looking." Lu Han lets the words fall onto the table between them, and it feels like an ultimatum; a test. _What are you going to do, Sehun?_  
  
"Well I could say the same thing, actually," he finds himself admitting, even though he's never told anybody, not even his best friend who only scolds him for stumbling home in the morning after spending another night with a girl or boy who thought he was cute enough to fuck but not enough to keep. Everyone thinks he likes it, when all he wants some long lonely weeks, is a warm body to keep the dark away—just for a little bit. Even though he feels even lonelier in the morning when he comes home and Zitao gives him a hug and breakfast and pushes him in the direction of the bus so he doesn't miss his class, all while smiling at his phone, because there's someone who loves him for being him on the other end.  
  
They look at each other, over the table, for a moment that stretches out into an eternity of possibility.  
  
It's almost jarring when Lu Han breaks the silence.  
  
"Can I have your phone number?" he asks, when Sehun knows that Lu Han could just ask MInseok to ask Zitao. This feels like it means something.  
  
"Sure," Sehun says, and then remembers that his phone is out of commission. "Actually," he admits, embarrassed, "it kind of broke, when, yeah. . ." His voice trails off. He doesn't want to bring it up.  
  
Lu Han looks terribly guilty then, and Sehun feels really bad even though it is technically Lu Han's fault.  
  
"You could pick me up after class tomorrow?" he offers instead, surprised at his own forwardness, tongue already stumbling over itself to explain that he's just kidding and not to take him seriously when Lu Han's gaze snaps up, and Sehun doesn't take the words back after all.  
  
"The main arched gate at, say, six o'clock?" he asks, and Sehun nods. He feels—he feels tingly, his fingers and toes, and it's like he's standing on the edge of a precipice but there's no danger of falling except up.  
  
"I'll be there."  
  
Lu Han sends him off in a taxi, prepaying the driver before Sehun can complain, and waves goodbye, a surprised and yet completely happy smile on his face. Sehun smiles back.  
  
There's a song playing on the radio, and it sounds familiar.  
  
_Don't say we're alone  
Don't say we're alone in this  
In this universe  
They know something  
Will my stars align?_  
  
  
  
---  
  
**Author's Note:**

>  **BBTH #23**  
>  Past comment page [here](http://theblueintheday.livejournal.com/4654.html).


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